


Bandages

by Aithilin



Series: Fresh Start [12]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Regaining memory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 22:59:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11023371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: There was an overlay between Prince and Hunter in Nyx's mind for a while now, he just needed that last push to break the barrier.





	Bandages

**Author's Note:**

> Also over at my [Tumblr](http://aithilin.tumblr.com/).

Nyx was used to blood and death and treating the sort of injuries that could only come from daemons or beasts. He still remembered the battlefield wounds that claimed his friends when he fought under the command of King Regis, and he remembered treating far worse with far fewer supplies in the ten years of darkness that came after. He remembered the proclamation that he was going to die from his wounds in Insomnia; he remembered wanting to live, just to spite the asshole dead royals that had bargained the future for his life. To spite the Six and all the other Astrals that had turned their lives into playthings. 

But he couldn’t recall ever actually needing to treat a lover before. Friends, sure. People he considered family, of course. But this was different. This wasn’t forcing Pelna or Libertus to sit still on the front lines while he forced them to a medic. This wasn’t Crowe or Libertus fighting to watch his back even as he fished through his own limited supplies to stave off blood loss or stasis. Even as their local doctor— just another Lucian refugee from the ashes of Insomnia who had managed to survive the darkness with them— tied off the last of the stitches, Nyx didn’t know what to feel. What he should say, or do, or if there was anything he could manage other than to ensure Noctis was comfortable in their little guest room. 

“How’s he holding up?” Libertus asked once he had seen the doctor out. Once the necessities of paying for the time and service and materials had been handled. He asked from the door, caught between coming into the room and disturbing what little quiet Nyx had, and staying outside and removed from the situation at hand and admitting that he was not the one who could lend a proper sympathetic ear or hand. In the end, Libertus stepped in and rested a hand on Nyx’s shoulder. “Doc said he’ll pull through, right?”

“Yeah,” Nyx offered a tense smile in response. “Yeah, he figures Noct wasn’t out there too long without help.”

“We can handle some time off,” Libertus said, letting his own cheer speak for them both. “You always pick the troublemakers, you know.”

Closing down the bar for a couple of days was probably their best option. Nyx knew that he would be useless until he could convince himself that Noctis was going to be okay; until he could reasonably expect that Noct was going to recover properly. That he wasn’t needed to look after the other man, or protect him. That Noct— pale, battered Noctis— was going to wake up and laugh off the new scars as he always did. 

“Besides,” Libertus continued, giving Nyx’s shoulder a quick squeeze before he started out again; “you need a vacation, hero.”

And there was that nickname again. Nyx nodded and offered his friend a smile. “Yeah, fine. This is a crappy vacation, though.”

Nyx had stopped praying a long time ago. The brief time he had spent with the Oracle— with Luna— had almost been enough to make him believe those old stories again. The time afterwards, the months’ of recovery and listening to the news as Libertus dragged his charred ass back home to Galahd now that the whole of the Niflheim army was out hunting a prince, Nyx had actually prayed that the Six would look after Noct for him. As the gods woke, one after the other and allied themselves, Nyx knew that there was something looking after the prince— the king— that he couldn’t compete with. The prayers died when the darkness became more complete, more absolute. He travelled to Lestallum first, heard what had happened from Ignis and Gladiolus and Prompto; he hunted with them, helped set the safety net on the roads, helped get the world ready to fend off what they could. 

When he got back to Galahd, it was easier to defend his little home without worrying too much of the others. They still kept in touch. They still talked. And when the dawn came, Nyx knew that something big had happened. 

Prayers died ten years ago when there were daemons prowling the streets and waiting outside of the few cities that were left. A bit of sunlight wasn’t enough to bring back the faith the Oracle had planted. Not when he had learnt that it was the death of his king that caused the sunrise. 

Now, there was an annoying, sadistic little Astral taunting him with his own memories. Reminding him of what he had lost and what could have been dying already. 

Every time he stepped into the little guest room and saw that little creature, he ignored it. With every persistent dreams and nightmare and reminder that his prince was dead in the ruins he had survived, Nyx decided that the gods were all just dicks. Even if Carbuncle curled up against his Noct’s good shoulder as he slept. Even if it reminded him of the way his Little Prince used to tell him about the creature and its games, its protections. 

The visits, as far as he knew, lasted only a few moments; “Leave him alone, you rat.”

He didn’t want Noct staying asleep forever. He didn’t want him to be lulled into the siren call of happy dreams. Not when there was a very real world Nyx at least knew he was a part of. He didn’t even know what sorts of things Noct would dream of. 

“You can see him?” Noct asked, eyes still closed against the daylight in the room. His hand was on Carbuncle, thumb moving over soft fur, even as the creature got up and disapeared once it had hopped down from its place. 

“Unfortunately,” Nyx set the bowl he had been carrying down on the nightstand and looked around for the creature before he was satisfied that it was gone. “How’re you feeling, pretty thing?”

“Like I’ve been mauled by a giant cat.”

“I wouldn’t say mauled,” Nyx smiled and pushed back some of Noct’s dark hair, relaxing once he could see the blue of his eyes again. He settled into the chair that hadn’t moved much from the bedside since Noct was first settled into the bed. “More like batted around a bit.”

“Not helping, hero.”

“Not meant to, little prince—” Nyx felt his heart stop at the slip. He felt his blood run cold at the way Noct’s eyes widened— they had already had this argument, already had this promise that Noct wasn’t replacing his dead lover. He had tried to keep the images apart, to keep his promise that Noct wasn’t competing with a ghost.

“Nyx…”

“No, sorry. It slipped,” he tried to pass it off with a laugh. Tried to unsee the similarities. “It’s been a rough few days, I know you’re not—”

He could have sworn there was disappointment in response to the hurried apology. Nyx was reaching for the bowl of soup he had brought when he caught the soft; “What If I was?”

He could see it, easily. He could see the way Noct, older, more mature, more broken, was like his prince. They had the same smile, the same eyes. He had watched his lover train, and they had sparred like he used to with his younger lover in Insomnia. He could see it in the movements and laughter and teasing and… “Don’t joke about that.”

“And if it’s not a joke?”

“Then you’ve taken more damage than I though, and I need to get that doctor back here.” 

Noct struggled to pull himself up enough to eat, to rest against the headboard with a pained groan; “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, well, call it my hero’s complex if you want.”

“I do,” the smirk was painfully familiar, and Nyx busied himself with the soup so he wouldn’t have to see it. “At least you’re not the one rushing into danger.”

“Why are you talking like this? I said I was sorry,” Nyx huffed, staying only because he could still see the red in the fresh bandages, because he knew that Noct had been given medication to help with the pain, to help him sleep. But it echoed; he could remember that shitty little apartment in the depths of Insomnia, where the roles were reversed, where his little prince scolded him for his heroics and injuries. Where he bit back the sharp replies and broken off apologies as they had just been happy Nyx had made it back at all. 

He saw the little shake of Noct’s head as the young man reached for the bowl; “Sorry, it’s nothing.”

For a moment, he could almost see it again, as it was in those cursed dreams that little Astral had inflicted. He could see the familiarity in those features, that kicked-puppy look that surfaced in those blue eyes. The determination, the mischief, the confidence. He could see his prince in the hunter, and could imagine the wounds one suffered for the other. He remembered that look, after days spent apart because he had missions beyond the Wall. He could remember the same flashes of disappointment when he had to tell his little prince ‘no,’ that there was something else to take him away from their bed, their little haven buried deep in the maze of the city. Where he would listed to his prince talk about how busy the king was, how he was a son missing his father. Where he would wrap his arms around his prince and make a hundred promises to never leave, to never forget the small things the prince had found so important. Where he would try to chase away that look of hurt when he had to be called away, when he became too busy to stay with Noct. His Noct. 

The Noct that was currently making a face at the broth Nyx had done little more than heat up on the stove. 

“Wait…” Nyx could see it in those eyes, in that little flash of disappointment that was now just curiosity. In the small way Noct leaned into the touch as Nyx caressed his cheek, as he tried to search out more familiarities. “You’re not actually joking.”

He could see that hesitation. That little bit of hope. He remembered that too. And tried not to panic at the implications of it, “Noct… How?”

The soup was set aside— at least one of them had to be practical— and Noct nodded. “It was Iggy who did it. Some old magic.”

“Of course it was,” Nyx tried to sort through it in his mind— he could feel the dissociation, the moment of where the two Noct’s separated in his mind. He could feel where it was his prince ending and this hunter beginning. “What the fuck?! How did this even happen? How could I forget everything?”

“Bahamut—”

“Oh right, more fucking Astrals with their fucking interference.”

“Nyx—”

“Can you kill gods? Because that should be a thing right now.”

“Nyx, it’s fine.”

“You died! You fucking died!”

Noct relaxed back against the headboard, head against the wall. He sighed and offered a little smile, “It was my duty, Nyx. Like you did yours.”

“Yeah, well… Fuck duty.”

“You do understand that it’s all over, right? That I don’t need to do anything other than what I’ve been doing.”

Nyx didn’t realise that he had gotten up. That he was on his feet and itching to find a weapon. He didn’t realise just how angry he was at being manipulated until he saw Noct watching him with those tired, pained eyes, and that ghost of a smile. He groaned; “Since when were you the calm one?”

“Since I was impaled with a sword and saved the world,” Noct reached for the soup again; “Look, it’s shitty, and you were an idiot. Can we leave it at that?”

“How was I an idiot? You could have told me,” Nyx grumbled, taking the bowl instead and perching himself on the edge of the bed. “I wouldn’t have believed you, but you could have said something.”

“You need a minute?”

“Yeah, but you come first, little prince.”

“Don’t call me that, I’m not royalty anymore.”

“Right,” Nyx took a deep breath and tried to focus on Noct, to re-order his thoughts, to recognise what and who was in front of him. “I’m going to need to borrow your weapons, you know.”

“You’re not attacking the Astrals.”

“You’re still no fun,” but he offered a smile, helped Noct eat, checked the bandages. He couldn’t take his eyes off Noct; couldn’t stop linking up what he thought was just a similarity to what was in front of him, with what he remembered. He couldn’t separate the smiling, easy young prince with the wry, amused hunter. The hunter who he knew would beat the shit out of him as soon as he was able if he got too overprotective like he used to. “You’ll be okay if I take that minute to go freak out?”

“Go freak out, Nyx. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“Fine, fine,” the bowl was pressed back into Noct’s hands, and Nyx forced himself to get up. To kiss Noct’s forehead before he left the room. Before he went to the room he had shared with Noct all this time while still mourning the dead king. Once the door was closed, and locked, he let himself fall back onto his— their— bed, and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes in the attempt to shut out everything but his racing thoughts. He promised himself that he’d be fine in a few hours, that he’d be fine once he lined things up and took stock of the situation. 

Noct had been right, though, anything he tried to say or do wouldn’t have sunk in before now. Wouldn’t have clicked together the way everything just did. He thought back to the dreams, the overlay of prince and hunter in them and groaned. The way that Carbuncle, the little rat, had been trying to tell him in the most obvious way possible. He couldn’t separate it now, the image of his little prince back in the shining city, and the hunter that had survived the dawn. 

He eyed his phone, and realised that was what had changed with Ignis. Ignis had remembered. He scrolls to Prompto’s number and dials; “Hey, kiddo, is Iggy around?”


End file.
